


Benedictions 4:10-11

by apostategf



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age II - Freeform, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Post-Dragon Age II, Templars (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23126749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostategf/pseuds/apostategf
Summary: Retired, battle-worn Knight Captain Lydia Trevelyan loses what little faith she had left at the conclave. She still seeks to help others, but her best option is to join the ranks of the newly formed Inquisition.





	Benedictions 4:10-11

Lydia lightly dug her heels into her steed’s haunches, attempting to make good time in the snowy terrain. The conclave was just ahead; she could see the shimmering of the temple’s peaks just over the hills. Mages and templars were making their way inside without word or weapon passing between them. It was almost mockingly peaceful. She slowed her mount to a halt and dismounted, snow crunching under her heavy leather boots as she hit the ground. After hitching her horse, she began her trek towards the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The biting winds slipped between the cracks of her helmet, drowning out the gossip of the nobles. The conclave was meant to be an attempt at peace, but many believed not even the Divine herself could mend such a wound; it had been gaping and festering far too long. Lydia’s attendance at the peace talks was more political than personal, however. As far she was concerned, the Maker Himself could appear and it still wouldn’t be enough. Unfortunately, she’s a Trevelyan and the Grand Cleric of the Ostwick Chantry’s favorite knight-captain. Though, Lydia no longer bears that title. 

The Trevelyans have always had close ties to the Chantry, though for many it was simply politics. For Lydia, however, she had devoted her life in service of the Maker. As a warrior of consciousness, she found worth and love in the arms of the Maker. She traveled between the Chantries of the Free Marches, performing charity and assisting historians in scavenging for relics where they dare not go. Grand Cleric Adriana had grown worried over the rising tensions of Kirkwall’s circle and the Knight-Commander. Having a second Knight-Captain holding down Ostwick’s circle made Lydia flexible. Her Grace would often make use of the diplomatic skills Lydia acquired as a result of being nobility, sending her to settle potential rebellions or assist in training recruits to only use violence as a last resort. It’s how she ended up in Kirkwall, and what ultimately led to her early retirement. Not a night goes by without abominations and explosions plaguing her dreams. 

Nerves crept up Lydia’s spine. She had a sinking feeling in her gut that she tried to ignore. It had been what felt like ages since she weaned herself lyrium; she often wondered if madness had settled in and left her paranoid. As knight-captain, Lydia had seen her fair share of brutality. Many mistook her as a guard for the Trevelyans more so than recognized her as a member of the family. It wasn’t far off, however, as she was fiercely protective of those she cared for. Along with her undying loyalty to the Maker and animalistic aggression in battle, Lydia had earned the nickname “Mabari'' amongst her cousins. It spread quickly among the other Fereldan nobility. The Trevelyan motto of “modest in temper, bold in deed” was never lost on her. Lydia startled many she met with her kindness and generosity; it was simply buried under stoicism often mistaken for quiet rage. She had simply seen far too many unpleasantries in her line of work, so she bottled it up and tucked it away. In order to continue her service to the Maker, Lydia had to bury her negative emotions. She’d done it so often it became a skill, so being shaken up the way she was didn’t do anything to settle her nerves. After the events in Kirkwall, it seemed more difficult to tuck away her fears than ever before. It was like a teapot always on the cusp of boiling over. Before she could begin to recall the horrors of the aforementioned city, a commotion followed by a loud bang disrupted Lydia’s thoughts. There was a cacophony of screams before the impact of an unseen force sent her flying, knocking her out as she slammed into the hard ground. 

Slowly, Lydia’s eyes opened only to be faced with complete darkness. She blinked just to be sure, confirming her momentary blindness. For a moment, fear overtook her, believing herself to have died and been banished to the Void. The notion was quickly dismissed when Lydia became acutely aware of the ringing in her ears. A memory flashed; it was Kirkwall all over again. A few more blinks and colors began to spot her vision; it was blurred, but it meant she at least hadn’t gone blind. Lydia made an attempt to move as soon as the world came into focus. She had gained enough barings on her directions that she knew she was facing down. Either she was pinned, or simply too weak to move on her own. The harsh ringing in her ears was fading, only to be replaced with distance shouts and weapons clashing. Smoke filled Lydia’s lungs as her senses began to return. Whatever adrenaline had numbed her had worn off, made obvious by the searing pain in her lower body. Between the smoke and sharp pain in her head, Lydia could not obtain enough focus to investigate the cause. Her chest tightened as she began to panic, only able to huff out shallow breaths. Lydia made a clumsy attempt to move, but the numbing of her hands made it difficult to find purchase. _Not again. Please, not again._ Kirkwall forced its way to the front of her mind stirring up further panic. A warm liquid rolled down Lydia’s forehead, mixing with sweat and smoke and disorienting her. The less she saw, the more erratic she became. In a frenzy, Lydia began clawing at the dirt beneath her. Hysteria was setting in, and her whole body seemed to weaken in response. Lydia became lightheaded and her arms started giving out completely. Any attempts to ground herself were lost in flashes of memory and frenzied thoughts. She collapsed as fear overpowered her and the world began to fade in and out again. There were shouts nearby, however they were muffled by the persistent ringing in her ears. Lydia could only pray to a creator she no longer believed in as she lay helpless. The shouting was closer this time, followed by the clanking of chainmail and armor, the last things she’d managed to make out before slipping out of consciousness. 

First came the pain. It was as if an Ogre had tossed Lydia like a ragdoll. Every nerve was on fire, and every bone felt like it had shattered and splintered inside of her. Second, came sight. It was a painstakingly slow process just to open her eyes. When her surroundings finally came into focus, it only left her more disoriented than before. Unable to pinpoint her exact location, Lydia made her second attempt of the day to move freely, only to be met with sharp, unbearable pain. She, however, forced herself into a sitting position, every slight movement met with bolts of electricity shooting through her entire body. Once Lydia finished adjusting, poultices and potions came into her field of vision. Turning her head only slightly to avoid further pain, she was able to make out the body of templar on a cot only a couple meters away. Maker willing, he’s only asleep. 

“Thank the Maker; she lives,” a gentle voice disrupts Lydia’s investigation, however, the startle caused her to whip her around too quickly which resulted in a low groan and mumbled curses. “Ah, don’t move so much. I did all I could to ease the pain, but it’s a miracle you even survived.” A young woman in robes approaches Lydia tentatively, grabbing a poultice as she does. “This should help with the scarring, not much else we can do. Even with magic, we weren’t sure you’d even wake up.” A mild panic settled in Lydia. The idea of mages using their abilities on her as she slept sent a shiver up her spine. She shoved the image from her mind aside and remembered she had no idea how she wound up here in the first place.

Lydia moved gently in order to face the healer, wincing slightly as she angled her head. “Can you tell me what happened?” her voice came out raspy, causing her to cover her mouth in embarrassment. The woman passed her a canteen of water before responding.

“I didn’t find you, so I couldn’t give you the details, but a couple of templars carried you in. Said they found you under debris from the explosion and managed to drag you here,” she applied the poultice as she spoke. “Your armor helped lessen the impact; you must have a damn good smith.” She held a hand over one particularly large gash, and it began to emit a glow. Lydia nearly pulled away on instinct. “I’m Anita, by the way. I’m one of the mean, scary mages who healed you,” Lydia opened her mouth to respond, but Anita stopped her. “It’s okay, you made a face when I mentioned it. Plus the one of templars spoke like they knew you. It’s not something I haven’t gotten used to.” She sounded a bit resigned. Lydia quietly apologized, then thanked her. It was quiet for a moment, allowing for the sounds of conversation to enter the tent. She heard it again, the dreaded word. Explosion. The previous events were only starting to process. It made Lydia nauseous to even consider the possibility, but she had to know. 

Lydia took a deep breath before speaking, “Lydia. I’m Lydia Trevelyan. That’s why they knew me.” Anita’s eyes widened for a moment, but Lydia interrupted her, “I’m not a threat either. I left the order some time ago.” The tension left the tent, then Lydia continued, “Anita, you said something about-” hesitation and fear creeping up her throat, “You said something about an explosion? Please, tell me everything you can.” She looked pleadingly at Anita who began fiddling with the sleeves of her robes.

Anita couldn’t meet Lydia’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. honestly don’t have the answers you probably want, but if you’re able to move, it’s better if I show you.” tone laced with sadness. She apologized the way one does when a loved one has passed. Lydia’s stomach dropped while her anxiety spiked. She nodded at Anita, and began to shuffle along the cot slowly. Anita lowered herself enough to wrap an arm around Lydia’s waist to assist her. Lydia placed an arm on Anita’s neck for support. Each movement was more painful than the last, but she needed to know. 

There was a blast of cold air as the pair exited the tent. Lydia grimaced as the cold mountain air seemingly seeped into her bones, lighting her body ablaze with agony. Her grip tightened around Anita’s neck as she stumbled next to her. Anita paused to let Lydia recover her footing, concern glittering in her eyes for only a moment. It almost felt like Justice to see a templar, retired or not, rely on a mage for help, yet she was riddled with guilt for just thinking so. Anita had heard of Knight-Captain Lydia, but the stories never seemed to add up. Either she was a ruthless barbarian who ate mages for breakfast, or she was a gentle soul who baked bread for alienage children and made flower crowns for darkspawn. Seeing her, having spoken to her now, she just seemed so normal, human even. As soon as Lydia had recovered enough, she nodded to Anita and they continued outside.

Once they were in place, Anita spoke, “There was an explosion. We don’t know what caused it. But it left that strange hole in the sky. Everyone’s taken to calling it the breach. Whatever it is, demons are falling from it, some elf too. They’re interrogating her right in there apparently. They’ve still pinned the blame on mages of course.” Venom tainted her tone as she spat out the last sentence. Lydia stared into the breach, eyes wide with horror. Her heart lurched into her throat. She could feel her chest tighten and hands go numb again as she started to shake. Was it rage? Fear? It didn’t matter though, did it? A million thoughts were racing around in her head, and her knees felt like they could buckle at any moment.

Anita noticed Lydia’s trembling and attempted to soothe her. “Hey, you need to breathe. In and out and for me okay?” Some vicious beast The Knight-Captain Lydia turned out to be. She seemed more like a scared little girl than a mage eating mabari. Anita pushed her discomfort aside for now and kept trying to ground her. Once Lydia regained her composure, Anita spoke again, “We should be safe here, there are soldiers set up at every entrance. Besides, once word gets out Knight-Captain Lydia is here, your mean mug alone should send those demons running.” Lydia furrowed her brows for a moment, then stifled a giggle. Anita let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding; it was a risky joke for sure, but it got Lydia to calm down if only for the moment. 

The moment was fleeting. The reality of the situation dawned on Lydia, hitting her like a block of silverite. The Divine. Divine Justinia was in the Temple. She had to choke back the bile burning in her throat. “Anita. Did she-” Her voice quaked with fear, unsure if she could continue. Anita knew though, and she averted her eyes from Lydia. There was a tremble in her voice when she spoke, “I’m so sorry. The Most Holy was in the temple. She’s-she’s gone.” Lydia barely heard the last words as her ears began to ring. She crumpled where she stood, fear, anger, and sadness acting as a weight. She brought her hands to her face when she felt tears welling up. Lydia’s aching body, the snow seeping into her trousers, the demons falling from the breach, it all seemed like nothing now. Lydia felt nothing and everything all at once, the panic threatening to return. She shook the tears from her eyes and clenched the fabric just above her knees. A quiet rage churned inside of her, like a terrible storm building up. The kettle was going to whistle.

Anita bared witness to a Lydia trembling before her on the ground. She rushed to her side, she spoke as gently as possible, terrified of setting Lydia off, “I’m sorry. I wish I had a better answer. But please, you need to stand. We should get you back inside before you catch something. Your cheeks are putting Chantry red to shame.” Anita’s voice broke Lydia from her trancelike state, wincing as her head shot in her direction. Her eyes softened upon seeing Anita’s weak attempt at a smile. Lydia took Anita’s hand which was noticeably warm compared to biting cold of the mountain.  
As she helped her up, Lydia took a chance to actually look at Anita. Her dark skin seemed to glow under the pale green light of the breach, elegant braids cascading down her back, spilling over her right shoulder. Anita’s deep brown eyes were gentle and warm, something akin to a warm fire in the dead of winter. Her hands were soft, but not too delicate, exhibiting years of magical experience. Once Lydia was on her feet, she took note of how even without standing at full height she at least a foot on Anita. This didn’t surprise her much though, she’d always been considerably taller than the other girls her age; it didn’t help rumors much. It made sense Anita was a natural healer. Everything about her radiated warmth and gentleness. Lydia felt admiration, perhaps even a bit of envy. Her assessment was interrupted by the sound of a door slamming. 

Lydia jerked her head in the direction of sound, eliciting a quiet groan. “You really need to stop doing that. Your neck will never heal,” Anita whispered through gritted teeth, an annoyed expression painting her face. Lydia huffed in response, shuffling forward to get a better look at the center of the commotion. Anita followed suit, still holding Lydia up to keep her from stumbling. Once her targets became visible, Lydia let out a quiet gasp.

There stood Cassandra Pentaghast, anger twisting the sharp features of her face. She was pushing along a cuffed, sullen looking elf, whose hand seemed to glow from beneath her armor. They were speaking, but Lydia couldn’t make out the words over the hushed whispers of the crowd. She had so many questions, but she knew better than to upset Cassandra. 

The pair spent time together at a Chantry in Navarra as children. The Trevelyans had relatives in the country, and often Lydia’s parents would leave her with the Chantry wherever they traveled. The two met when Cassandra pointed out that she’d never seen Lydia before, interrupting Lydia’s reading. “I’ve never seen you before either,” Lydia would quickly retort. Cassandra would stick her tongue out in response. Both stubborn, headstrong, and temperamental, the two girls got along splendidly. Her brother Anthony had gifted the girls with wooden swords with an off handed comment about their brutish rough housing. Sparring quickly became their favorite pastime whenever they’d see each other, only ending when neither could stand. It was nice for Lydia to have another strong woman around. The two together had intense aura that could intimidate a room full of people. Cassandra could keep up with Lydia, and Lydia with Cassandra. Though in more intimate moments, they would speak of crushes and dreams exchange romance and adventure novels. When Lydia heard about Anthony, she was left Fereldan on her own to attend the funeral and be there for her dearest friend. Cassandra seemed beyond consolation, however. She’d hardened herself and put walls up even around Lydia. It would be sometimes before they saw each other again, and that would be the last time as well. 

The elven prisoner crying out tore Lydia from her reminiscing. The mark on her hand was glowing brighter, seemingly reacting to something. The breach perhaps? Cassandra knelt down to her prisoners level and spoke to her sternly. The elf gave a curt nod in response, determination flashed in her eyes briefly after. The pair took off again towards the gates and into the fray. A sadness washed over Lydia as she watched the two go. She would give many things to fight at Cassandra’s side again, but now she was too weak, and Cassandra hadn’t even known she was there. 

Anita snapped her fingers in Lydia’s face using her free hand, “Sorry love bird, but you need to get some more rest.” If Lydia’s cheeks weren’t already flush from the chilled air, they certainly were now. 

“Love bird? Where did you get such a ridiculous notion?” Lydia stammered out. 

Anita chuckled softly, “Oh please, I thought they called you Mabari because you were a big, nasty meanie. Now I realize it because you drool like one. She’s certainly your type, all gruff and serious.” She chuckled some more as she helped shift Lydia’s weight to guide her more easily. 

Lydia huffed indignantly, “Actually we were friends once, some time ago. I saw her one last time, not even a letter after that. It’s possible I felt something once, but I got over that years ago.” She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince once the words left her mouth. It startled her how easily she opened up around Anita. It was too easy to blame magic, and wrong. She knew that. 

A thoughtful hum left Anita’s lips, “Well then, I’d say that’s enough excitement and tragedy for the both of us today. Someone else can save the day, but you need to rest up. This camp’s only temporary.” The two slip into the tent, and Anita helps Lydia back onto the cot and continues, “I don’t intend on leaving your side until you’re better or at least in someone else’s care. Once you’ve rested some more we can head out tomorrow.” A coy smirk made its way onto Anita lips when she finished speaking. 

Lydia raised an eyebrow, “Silver for your thoughts? Or do you just have a lopsided smile?” Anita’s eyes widened for a moment, then she stifled a giggle. 

“I was just thinking how funny it is to have a templar, Knight-Captain Lydia no less, at my mercy. Of course, you should definitely be dead, and the fact that you can even move in talk can be no less than a blessing from the Maker Himself. I can understand the rumors. It’s just a silly thought, really.” Anita regretted saying anything the second she spoke. She looked anywhere but at Lydia and pulled nervously at the sleeves of her robe. Maker, what a way to die. Lydia’s airy giggles jostled Anita from her thoughts and left her dumbfounded.

The day was finally wearing on Lydia, exhaustion draining her of any last bit of stamina. She spoke quietly and hoarsely, “I hate to ruin the fantasy for you, but I haven’t been a templar for sometime now.” Emotion began to strangle her voice, “You must know about Kirkwall. It’s responsible for all this mess, of course,” Lydia closed her eyes as tears threatened to well up, “I was there. It was horrific. I grew disillusioned with the order among other things. I simply retired quietly and went away for some much needed reflection.” Lydia’s voice faltered towards the end. The world around her began to fall away, and she was out before she could see the pity glitter in Anita’s eyes. 

Every so often, Lydia was cross the threshold between sleep and waking. In that place she could grasp bits and pieces of conversation. There were mentions of the breach, fighting at the conclave, a haven of some sort? The final time she started to wake, she heard mention of a rift being sealed. Herald? Who’s Herald? Still unable to breach consciousness, she couldn’t object when she felt the cot fall from beneath her. She heard Anita pestering whoever it was to be gentle. Lydia’s back made contact with a pile of furs, the warm easing her aches and soothing her back to sleep. She felt one last jolt of movement before fading back out.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just meant to be a bit of a vent piece as well as some silly practice after getting back into writing after a few years. I apologize for any mistakes and constructive criticism is very welcome. I have no idea how far intend to take this, but if enough people actually find it enjoyable I may write some short stories as well while I continue this one. Thank you to anyone who took the time to read this. I'm still a bit new to the website, so forgive me if I don't know all the proper mannerisms.


End file.
